“Hey man, not everyone is a criminal.” That’s what the guy said to me as he entered the doorway to his building. He was a young black man, lighter skin, a little shorter than me, glasses, and I think a bald head. I was caught off guard and didn’t know how to respond. I think I said something like, “I didn’t think you were…”
I’m not sure what I did to give him the impression that I felt unsafe around him. I wish we could have talked a bit more, but he ducked into his place. I spent the rest of my twenty-minute walk back to my hotel thinking about how far apart we are in America. Several times, I thought about going back and knocking on his door so we might have the honest conversation I think we both deserve. We learn about these different perceptions in diversity, equity, inclusion, and belonging trainings, but we seldom get the chance to connect in the moment of misunderstanding.
It was a little after 11 at night, and I was off the beaten path. I had gone to a bar that some people told me was a local’s pub – away from the more touristy spots. The place was everything you’d want in a dive bar. They’re known for serving copious amounts of Pabst, and on Wednesdays they have a paper airplane throwing contest. That was supposed to be the title of this post, “Paper Airplanes and PBRs.” I left the bar feeling good about my ability to always find a local spot and blend in. I left the bar thinking I should give myself more credit for being a social chameleon – it’s a skill not everyone has. Being called out like this burst those bubbles.
Only a few blocks from the bar, I could sense someone walking behind me. I paused to let them pass and look at a burned out building that seemed to be mostly structurally intact… maybe this was his clue – the pause. After he passed, I started walking again and soon passed him. This is when he said, “hey man, not everyone is a criminal” and entered his building. Maybe it was this little dance we did. Maybe it was the way I hold my laptop bag at my hip as I walk. Maybe I had looked over my shoulder one too many times.
I feel awful that this was his experience. I feel awful because this is how black people experience white America, and I don’t want to contribute to that. I wish we could have talked. Had we talked, he’d know that I carry my laptop bag the way I do so that it doesn’t bounce against my hip. Had we talked, he’d know that earlier in the day, I let another stranger pass me by on a sidewalk. She was a white woman, and said she still had her work-hustle-walk going on. Had we talked, he’d know that I was exercising what I thought was a normal amount of caution based on time of night and location. Had we talked, he’d understand just how much I agree with him – not everybody is a criminal – in fact, I believe very few people are and we need to find ways to restore trust in each other. We didn’t talk and I can only think this was a missed opportunity.
The thing is, he’s not wrong. I suspect in his life experience, he’s been profiled in stores or while driving. He’s watched people cross the street, or clutch their purses, or lock their doors because they see him and make assumptions. I guess what I’m stuck wondering is how do we get past these things? I can’t undo his past experiences and I don’t know what I can do to better understand and not perpetuate those experiences.